


Traffic jam

by Kes



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kes/pseuds/Kes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you've been fighting omnicidal aliens and the bureaucracy, a getaway is in order. Unfortunately, flying from A to B isn't always possible...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traffic jam

“Really? Really?”

The line of traffic stretches on and on into the distance, moving a few inches at a time, and not for the first time Jane Foster wishes they could have taken the quick way out of the city, even if it would have meant having to only take what they could carry. But no; a few days after he moved in with her, a letter had appeared informing Thor about the legalities of flying in London airspace (and indeed general rules of the air regulations and requirements), and he had looked at it, sighed and said he’d deal with it later. So for now, they are groundbound. Unfortunately, that means that getting out of London to the east for a quiet couple of nights camping involves braving the M25, and Jane really hates traffic jams.

“Sorry, we are just no good at organising our cities so that they work for actual people to use…”

“We still organise our cities for horses,” Thor replies, and smiles. Even at the furthest back the seat will go, he looks hopelessly cramped. “I win for slow transport.”

“Fine. I win on air pollution.” The car is getting hotter, even with the windows open, even though the time of year means it should be cold.

“But you do not have horse manure littering the streets.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. Where there are horses, so there is manure. Sweet?”

It’s yet another of those sour Haribo mixes. Of all the things for an alien to get hooked on… “Sure. Did you buy these in bulk or something?” They crawl forward a few feet.

“Not in bulk. Just a multipack. I’m running out.” For a moment he falls silent. “Are you… all right? You look red.”

That, of course, makes her redder. “It’s too warm and I really hate traffic jams, I’m fine.”

Thor twists in his seat, reaching for the back of the car, and rummages in one of the many plastic bags there. “I knew I packed this,” he says eventually, and a little stream of cool air washes over her from a tiny blue foam-bladed fan. “I do not mind it. I think this is the first time we have travelled anywhere together with intentions of peace, actually.”

“If world-ending aliens or shady government people try to start anything on our quiet campsite, they’ll just have to book an appointment for significantly later.”

“Or we could invite them to our barbeque.”

“It’s our barbeque!” Once they arrive, they are going to buy the biggest array of barbeque food ever and go to town on the barbeque stand that comes with the camping spot. Apparently Thor is fairly good at open fire cooking - Jane and her parents had always used one of the little camping stoves.

“Perhaps they could buy their own?”

“Yeah, and then I’ll go and steal all their sausages because they tried to interrupt us.” She laughs, and so does he. It’s been a stressful week or two, and they have barely had time to talk. Aren’t the heroes who save the world meant to get rewards and adulation? Instead, it’s been legal wrangling, financial wrangling – in hindsight, she should have foreseen how difficult that would be for an alien without an Earthly birth certificate or any form of identification – academic wrangling, and… Well. Anything new that rears its head during the next few days can wait.

“The great sausage battle of Midgard. Truly an epic lay.”

On the other side of the road, two brightly-coloured cars go by. “I’ve heard stranger things on the radio,” she says, and changes the subject; even sausage-thieving alien invaders seem a bit raw. “Has Darcy told you about the yellow car game?”

“Yes – when you see one, you must shout. Did I miss one?”

“It just went by on the right.”

“A shame. Do you get a sweet for seeing it?”

“You’re eating them anyway, they’re not meaningful as prizes.”

“It would be one less that I could eat.”

“No, thanks, I don’t mind them but I’m not that keen on them.”

“Now I know how you felt about the ice-cream,” he says in a tone of mock sorrow, leaning forward. A strand of hair falls out from his ponytail.

“You said it was so cold you couldn’t taste it. Then you melted it.”

“I conducted an experiment to find out more.”

The experiment had left them with one newly-functional microwave (no-one had told him that it didn’t work and he shouldn’t bother trying, so he’d somehow managed to fix it with some delicate nudging of electrical fields inside it. One day she will figure out how he does that. One day. There are just too many things in this world – in this car – to find out, and so little time) and one leaking tub of melted ice-cream, which no-one wanted. They had spent the entire evening staring at it and laughing, because they’d all been sleeping badly and being rushed and busy during the daytime and somehow the forlorn carton was the funniest thing she had ever seen. “That was hilarious.”

“It was a pleasure – yellow car!”

“You get that one,” she says, nudging the car forward in sync with everyone else on the road.


End file.
